


Sonnac's No Good Very Bad Day

by VigilantShadow



Category: The Secret World
Genre: F/M, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilantShadow/pseuds/VigilantShadow
Summary: Sonnac was having a nice day, until he walked in on one of his least favorite field agents having sex with an Illuminati handler. On his desk. Written for The Apiary





	Sonnac's No Good Very Bad Day

The worst day of Sonnac’s month started perfectly well. The line for coffee was short, the weather was sunny, and he met a particularly nice cat on his way to Temple Hall. Then, he opened the door to his office.

He squinted, gently shut the door, and then opened it again, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. But no. The view from the doorway hadn’t changed. Faced away from him was a man: medium height, dark-haired, and wearing only the bottom half of his Templar uniform. He was sitting on his knees on Sonnac’s desk, perched over someone else in street clothing and having far too enthusiastic a time.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asked, feeling the headache which had tormented him since accepting the position of handler growing even worse than usual. The man dismounted the desk and turned, completely unrepentant.

“Hello, Riley,” Sonnac said, evenly. He thought he did a very good job of sounding neutral. Mostly neutral. Riley grinned, and Sonnac knew that Riley knew he’d annoyed Sonnac. The agent saluted, slipping past so quickly Sonnac didn’t have a chance to grab his arm. Still shirtless, of course.

“That’s how I feel about you, you wanker,” Sonnac thought he heard Riley whisper as he passed. Sonnac took a deep breath. The oncoming train wreck that was Riley would have to wait. After all, it wasn’t like Riley could defect and run off, therefore escaping the royal chewing out he intended to give his agent.

“Oh, hey Richard,” the man lying on the desk said, sitting up and smiling sheepishly. Sonnac groaned, leaned out of his office, and called for security. He’d be damned if he let both of them escape.

“Hello Agent Mitchell.” Sonnac sighed, then took a large sip of his coffee.

“So, uh, I bet you’re wondering why I’m here,” Mitchell said as two guardsmen filed in behind Sonnac.

“Yes,” Sonnac replied, “I very much would like to know why an agent of The Illuminati was participating in carnal acts on my desk at…” He checked his watch, “nine o’clock on a Tuesday morning.”

“Illuminati?” One of the guardsmen asked. “No, sir, there’s gotta be a mistake. Owen’s a Templar.”

“What?” Sonnac felt his eye start to twitch.

“Yeah,” the other one confirmed. “He’s here all the time.”

“Hi Derek,” Mitchell said, waving cheerily. He zipped up his pants. Derek waved back.

 Sonnac put on his best “disappointed dad” face and turned to the two Templar behind him.

“This,” he said gravely, “is Owen Mitchell, one of The Illuminati’s most experienced recruitment agents.” Sonnac could practically feel Mitchell perking up behind him at the compliment, which only served to annoy him even more. “Do you mean to say that you have been allowing a member of a _rival faction_ into Temple Hall?”

“Technically, this is my first time _in_ Temple Hall,” Mitchell chimed in. Sonnac groaned and turned back to Mitchell, who was busy buttoning up his shirt.

“Do you want to explain to me why your first time in Temple Hall had to involve you...” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Having semi-clothed sex with  _Riley_ on my _desk?_ ”

Mitchell’s smile turned a bit regretful and a bit sad. And yet, the expression never left his face. Sonnac wondered if Mitchell was capable of not smiling.

“Riley’s not that bad! I know he’s a little rough around the edges, but deep down he’s got a good heart…extremely deep down.”

“ _On my desk, Mitchell_ ,” Sonnac bit out, because it being Riley wasn’t _the point._ It being Riley just made it _worse._

“In my defense,” Mitchell said, “I didn’t want to do this.”

“You…you didn’t want to do this? You seemed to be having an excellent time a moment ago!”

“If I tell you why I’m here will you promise not to violently murder me?”

Sonnac frowned his patented _I’m so disappointed you can’t even fathom it_ frown.

 “I will consider it.” Technically, he already couldn’t kill Mitchell. It would be a diplomatic disaster.

\--

This is how it happened:

“We know that you have been seeing the Templar Riley Matthews,” The Pyramidion announced from Owen Mitchell’s radio, which was perched atop a pile of magazines that had made their home on his kitchen counter. Owen froze, his hand still gripping the wooden spoon he’d been stirring cookie dough with. And it had been such a nice Monday, too.

“Uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Owen squeaked. It didn’t sound very convincing, on account of he knew that there was really no denying it.

“By we, I mean myself and Cassini. I haven’t told The Board about this yet.”

“Why not?” Owen asked, continuing to stir the dough awkwardly. He was probably going to die, for real, at the end of this, and he wanted to finish his cookies before that happened. He’d promised Hana she could try his triple chocolate and it would be a shame to disappoint her.

“I haven’t decided if I should send you in to Q+A or not.”

“What? Why, uh, why not?” Owen tasted the dough. It could use more chocolate. He edged toward the cabinet, not taking his eyes off the radio. It was rude to not look at people while talking to them, and even if the radio wasn’t actually The Pyramidion Owen still felt it was important to be polite.

“Riley Matthews is not the first Templar that you have, as the kids say, done the dirty with.”

Owen sighed. “No, he isn’t.”

“In fact, you have a history of Templar boyfriends, don’t you?”

“And Templar girlfriends!” Owen objected, then realized that wasn’t a good argument. “I mean…it’s not like I _only_ date Templar. I date, uh, I’m dating a Dragon, and there was that Druid, and I swear I didn’t know the Phoenician was a Phoenician, and of course I don’t discriminate against my own tea- I’m really making this worse aren’t I?”

“I don’t know, I was enjoying listening to you dig yourself deeper.”

“Do you, do you want me to keep going then?” Owen asked.

“No, it would just seem forced now. I suppose that means it’s time to tell you what I want from you.”

“If you want?”

“You know about our blood feud with The Templar, or at least I hope you do. You’ve put nine years worth of recruits through orientation so I’d be disappointed if you missed the whole thing. But tell me…” Owen pictured The Pyramidion smiling smugly, “do you know about the inter-faction prank war?”

\--

“So what you are telling me is,” Sonnac said, then put up a finger, “hold on one moment.” He reached around Owen – who was still sitting on his desk, for some reason – pulled out his secret stash of bourbon, and poured some into his coffee, “what you are telling me is that The Pyramidion made you swear on pain of death to have sex in my office for a _prank war_?”

“ _Technically,_ it was on pain of Q+A, which is worse than death.”

Sonnac tried his best not to keep track of Illuminati internal affairs, but if they were anything like _Templar_ internal affairs he could sympathize. He took a sip from his coffee. It could use more alcohol.

“Oh,” Mitchell added, “also, he said to tell Dame Julia that this is worth at least ten points.”

“How did you even get in here, Mitchell?” Sonnac didn’t want to imagine telling _anyone_ about what had just happened.

“Uhhhhhhh,” Mitchell’s grin finally dropped, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly for a moment before he slid off the desk. “Long story, can’t tell you, I’m sworn to secrecy.” He plastered another smile on his face, a much falser one this time. “Gotta-go-see-you-at-handler-poker-night!” He gushed, then sprinted out of the room, giving the guards a high five as he left. Sonnac picked up his bourbon, looked at his coffee, and then took a swig from the bottle.

\--

Here’s what happened (don’t tell Sonnac):

“Hey Therese, I have a really big favor to ask of you. Like, super big. Feel free to say no, because it’s a…lot.” Owen grinned nervously, tapping the lid of his coffee cup. Therese raised an eyebrow. She hoped it was a cool look. It made badass ladies on TV shows look cool, at least.

Owen seemed to take it as encouragement, at least, because he took a deep breath and started talking again.

“So, uh, is there any chance that…well you see. I have to get into Temple Hall.”

Alright, kill plan _Look Cool And Mysterious._

“What?” She hoped she sounded deadpan and not confused.

“I have someone that I need to meet,” he said, still too quickly.

“Wait, is this about that boyfriend that you won’t tell me the name of?”

Owen had that kicked puppy, guilty look to him for a moment.

“I’d tell you, but uh. I don’t think you’d like him. He’s. He needs work.”

Therese squinted at him.

“I know, I know. You can’t date someone and just hope that they’ll change for you. But I’m making progress! I think!”

Therese squinted at him harder. His grin got more nervous, his mouth opening like a scared dog. She knew, logically, that she should say no immediately. Letting an Illuminati agent into Temple Hall was probably some kind of treason. But this Illuminati agent was Owen Mitchell, and he was wearing a pair of bright orange pants that she was fairly sure were actually Hana’s. It was impossible to be concerned about him. And besides, she thought, this gave her an idea.

“Alright, I’ll do it. On one condition!”

Owen stood, circled the table, and wrapped her in a hug before she could blink.

“What’s the condition?” He asked, directly into her ear. She coughed, and he let her go.

“Do whatever you’re intending to do,” she tried to waggle her eyebrows in a cool way, “in his office.”

“Deal!”

Therese thought about asking why he didn’t protest at all, but decided she’d get it out of him later. If there was one thing Therese had learned about the way Owen’s plans went in the past few months, it was that the ways they went _wrong_ were often a lot more entertaining than the ways they went right.

The next day, when Therese opened the door to Sonnac’s office to see him sitting at a chair in the corner, head cradled in one hand and a bottle of bourbon gripped in the other, she knew entertaining was an understatement.

 


End file.
